


Falsely Accused

by MississippiDuchess, SisterWine



Category: Logan/Remy - Fandom, Wolverine/Gambit - Fandom, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M, Hard-boiled Mystery, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Murder's a bitch, and there's a puppy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 18:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16069202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MississippiDuchess/pseuds/MississippiDuchess, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterWine/pseuds/SisterWine
Summary: Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or any of their likenesses. This is just for entertainment. Marvel and 20th Century Fox reserve the rights.Summary: Remy uses his resources to find out who killed his young wife and why.





	Falsely Accused

The end of the work week had finally come to a close, leaving Remy to drive home in the evening rain. It rained all day, leaving little to no room for the specks of sunlight to shine on the drenched city. Remy pulled into the long, gravel drive and stopped the car. Sighing, exiting the tan sedan and closing the door with a huff, he trudged up to the front door and unlocked it.

Letting the door sluggishly open by itself, moaning with an annoyingly loud whine, Remy stood in the doorway, exhausted. It had taken almost every last ounce of his stamina to get that far and now, it was demanding more to just get through the door without collapsing onto the cherrywood flooring. "Anna?" His tired voice rang through the foyer. "Chere, I think I'm home." His feet shuffled into the house and with a bump of his hand, the door moaned closed behind him.

The bright foyer light was on, along with the livingroom reading light she kept beside the LazyBoy, next to the fireplace. The bottom half of the house was dark, elsewhere. The house was quiet, not even the small benji named Scruff came to greet him. His attentions moved to the upstairs, where only the hall light was on. Carefully, he crept up the side-swept stairs to the left of the door. "Anna?"

He heard a soft whimper coming from their bedroom.

The double doors that sheltered their master bedroom, a bedroom that took up most of the right side of the upstairs, were closed. Remy found that odd since she always kept them open. His gut was screaming of something wrong. He inched closer to the doors, listening for any sounds that sounded human.

Hushed whimper.

Remy's hands shook as he opened the two white doors and quickly glanced around the tidy room. A small, white Labrador puppy whimpered again and pawed at Remy pantleg. He focused on the perfectly made bed and saw her lying, face first on the edge of the bed. "Chere!" Remy sprinted over to the pale woman on the bed. Looking at her face, he knew she was gone. "No no." Lifting her by the arms and rolling her over, Remy checked again for signs of breathing.

Nothing.

The lump in his throat continued to build as he reached over and lifted the receiver off the cradle of the antique phone she had begged him for, and called the police. His voice caught as he spoke to the operator. "Send someone quick. My wife's dead."

Within twenty minutes, the red and blue lights flickered through the windows. A hard pounding sounded from the front door and seemed to match the pounding in his head as Remy made his way down the stairs to answer it. The door opened and two detectives stood on his doorstep, drenched in heavy rain. He stepped aside to let them enter and slowly made his way back up to their bedroom, where his lovely wife still lay sprawled on their majestic California King bed.

Hours went by as medical people, detectives and crime scene specialists made their soggy way through the house. Individuals asked his questions that he couldn't form answers to. A numbness settled in his empty stomach as Remy watched the coroners move her to a black bag and carefully carry her down the stairs and out of the house, leaving him alone to deal with the questions.

Remy found the wall, just outside of the room, and gradually slid down to sit on the floor. Knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped tight around them, his head spun and his ears buzzed with horrible sounds. He wondered why this had happened. He wanted it all to stop and for the police to just go away but he knew they now suspected him in Anna's demise.

"Mister LeBeau? Did you hear me?"

Remy looked up, his eyes burned with exhaustion. He had been staring at the same spot on the carpet for the last twenty minutes. He exhaled and pushed himself to stand up to speak to the lead detective.

The detective was an older gentleman, in his late 40s, with a partial comb-over of salt and pepper hair. A shorter man with a round belly and a mustard stain on his wrinkled, pin-striped shirt. The tan raincoat he wore had been a cult favorite for years and he liked to think of himself as character in a Dashell Hammett book. Question after question was repeated several times over, in various ways, to make sure what Remy said was the truth but even the detective refused to believe the obvious. "Now, you say you came home, called her name, no answer so you came upstairs and found her dead, right?"

"Oui." Remy nodded. His headache gradually becoming worse with every sound.

The detective, Detective John Lawrence, nodded and noted the answer in his notebook. "You two have a fight?"

Shaking his head, Remy closed his eyes as he answered, "non."

Detective Lawrence shrugged. He looked around the bedroom, that they now stood in the doorway of. "This place is immaculate. She a neat freak?"

"Non."

"No? Then there must be something else wrong because from what I see, no happily married housewife scrubs and polishes the entire house and then offs herself on the bed. You two not uh, 'gettin' it on' at night?" Detective Lawrence had made himself very comfortable in Remy's personal life. He tended to use his badge to intimidate answers from spouses, in these kinds of calls.

This tactic would not work on Remy LeBeau. Remy's eyes lifted to meet the nosey detective's. "Actually, mon cher, we made love this morning, right on de kitchen counter." His expression hardened. "I didn't kill my wife. She was alive when I left for work. Now, please, find her killer."

The detective cleared his throat and straightened his stance. Leading the way downstairs, Detective Lawrence made a mental note of Remy's character and underlined it to watch the younger mutant closely. He hadn't expected the suspect to beat him at his own game. With a sigh, Detective Lawrence tugged on the lapels of his jacket and stepped towards the door. "Then, I guess I don't have to tell you to stay within the lines, on this one?"

Remy had grown tired of hearing the detective talk down to him and ushered him out, on to the front step, with a nod and a gruff "good night." The door shut before the detective could say anything else and Remy rubbed a hand over his face before covering a yawn that seemed to last too long. His eyes lifted to the top of the stairs where he had seen her, leaning against the railing, so many times. The hurt in his heart wouldn't let him climb the stairs again, tonight, so he heavily made his way into the den and laid down on the leather fainting couch, by the window. The puppy had come out of hiding and placed his front paws on the cushion of the couch, waiting for Remy to pick him up. Absently, Remy obliged and numbly let the pink tongue lick his face before the small, warm body curled up beside him and closed his eyes.

 

end part 1


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